So Berlin was wonderful. Sunny, charming, intoxicatingly cool and laid back and just, perfect. I couldn’t have asked for four more lovely days.
All of which I’ll get to tomorrow, hopefully. Because right now I’m swimming in pink post-it notes and panic.
My obsessive need to be organised, my love of lists, our looming return to Sydney and my tendency to forward-think (and yes, yes, over-think…) have tangled themselves spectacularly thanks to some adroit mental gymnastics, to the point yesterday where I found myself wondering if it was possible to vomit tears.
Berlin was great, amazing, perfect. But I didn’t manage much sleep while we were away. Instead, I entertained a sporadic showreel of half-conscious thoughts; a tipping of my mental sock drawer out onto the floor strewing family dramas, work worries, a writing backlog and growing lists of must-do, must-see and must-finish everywhere, using lazy visual metaphors. Tossed about in a boat lost at sea anyone? It was exhausting. I am exhausted.
I feel better today. I’ve crossed things off my list – not the least of which was booking tickets to see Cedar Lake Contemporary Ballet’s triple bill at Sadlers Wells, writing an entire 3000 word evaluation report and tweaking the copy for my new website.
This time in eight weeks exactly we’ll be home. That thought terrifies me for so many reasons.
At least this weekend we’re out of the house – away from all the intensely trivial reminders of the shit storm of packing to come. We’re off to cruise the upper reaches of the Thames on Nina and Steve’s houseboat and I cannot wait.
Until then I can comfort myself with crossing another thing off my list. Write about my post-it note panic-induced insomnia problem? Tick.